


Daughter

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-07
Updated: 2005-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "You knew he was someone special because she never brought one of her boyfriends home before." Ahh, the wonderful anxiety of mothers.





	Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**_Disclaimer: everything from hp books belongs to JK Rowling_ **

** Daughter **

_You knew he was special because she never brought home one of her boyfriends before._

You knew she had them of course. Even as a child your youngest daughter was popular with the boys, always had a welcoming glint in her eye, always ready for harmless flirtations even during ages she had no idea what she was doing. It used to make you laugh. The elementary school boys walking her home. The elementary school boys begging to hold her hand. It was amusing to you, childish romance usually is.

But you never met any of them. Even at the age of five when she had her first boyfriend you never met him. You knew what he looked like from his black and white yearbook picture, that small square created just for him. Petunia giggled the day she showed you his picture and saw your face. She laughed and said he was quite charming for a boy of six, quite cute, for a child anyway. And then she would walk away into Lily’s room and you would hear laughter as they talked about… they never did tell you what.

You know there were a few boys in Hogwarts. She wrote letters with that beautiful cursive fleetingly mentioning a boy asking her to Hogsmeade, the dance she went to with a date. She never wrote anything descriptive, never asked if you would like to meet him, and sometimes you cried because you knew so little about your daughter, cried because she hid so much from you. You felt as if she was a stranger sometimes. Felt as if you didn’t know the first thing about your youngest child.

You were foolish really, and you realized that every time she came home and laughed about your curiosity. _It was only a date, Mum._ She would say. _I’m not gonna’ marry any of **those** boys._ And she would giggle at your crestfallen face, pat your head, and run into Petunia’s room for a little hug after being away for a year, a little fight after being away for a year. And you know that Lily was spilling her heart out about the boys she met that year, that Petunia was telling Lily all about Patrick or Tom or Vernon. And you couldn’t help but feel jealous that you weren’t included in their gossip. You wanted to know what went on in her life, wanted some inkling into the magical world because you still can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for her.

You sometimes look at her Hogwarts letters. There were mentions of a Charlie in first year. She went out on two dates with him and from what Petunia told you, the first boy Lily ever slapped across the face. He got a little too close to her, was a little too fresh. In second year there was an infatuation with Sirius Black and a quick date that ended with a balding charm being thrown Sirius’s way. You laughed as you read her letter about that and tried to imagine a twelve year old boy crying to his mother for his hair. You tried to imagine Lily cursing the poor boy and what he did to deserve such a fate. He probably deserved it, you thought. He should have known not to incur your daughter’s harsh temper. That year there was also Henry and a boy you were vaguely interested in, Sam. He was Lily’s first kiss.

You laugh a little thinking about Sam. You remember her face when you asked her how it was, if he kissed well, if she kissed lots of boys. _Mum!_ She would cry completely red in the face. _Of course not!_ Third year and fourth year there was no one. You felt the ease of mother who had nothing to worry about. The ease of mother whose daughter was safe from the grasp of a young teenage boy who you know was thinking about just one thing.

Her fifth year is when you saw your first gray hair, your first wrinkle. Two names were constantly mentioned in her writings, the first one scared you, the second one did not. Benjamin Turner was your daughter’s first love. Benjamin Turner, the boy your daughter thought she would love forever. _He’s wonderful, Mum._ She would write. _All the girls are jealous because he’s always transfiguring flowers for me and saving my favorite bean flavor when he eats a pack of Bertie’s Every Flavor._ You think you must have hated him. _You would love, Mum, really, you would._ You remember reading. _Maybe someday you’ll meet and see why I love him so much._ You never did get to meet Ben. After seven months the relationship fizzled away and you slept at night for the first time since September.

The other boy in her fifth year was James Potter. How that name has haunted you for years. James Potter, the bane of your fifteen year old daughter’s existence. James Potter, the one you didn’t see coming. You remember her letters about him, the annoyance you know she felt, the aggravation. _He’s so annoying, Mum._ She would write. _All he does is play pranks all day, never studies, and yet masters everything he does. I hate him, Mum. He’s sooo…_ She never could finish that sentence. Later on you would sit down and imagine how it would end. _He’s so annoying? Immature? Persistent? Charming?_ You would write on a little slip of paper and place it with the letters of her fifth year.

Sixth year you didn’t hear about one date, one kiss. It was as if all the boys on earth disappeared, as if your daughter went to a school just for girls, lived the life of a nun. You knew there was _someone_ , saw a smug look on Petunia’s face because she knew something you did not. You hated it. You would rather of known that she’s snogging Benjamin Turner in her school corridors than not know anything at all. You would write a bit asking about Charlie, about Sam. _You **do** go to Hogsmeade still as a sixth year, don’t you Lily?_ _You **do** find time for fun? _ You were always fishing for information that year, always the mother of anxiety because her daughter’s life was a complete mystery.

She came home that year confident. She was all smiles and laughs and you aren’t sure you ever saw her that happy. You aren’t sure you ever saw Petunia so miserable either. She kept a boy’s picture in her drawer that summer. You came across it “accidentally” when you cleaned her room one day. It was a picture of a handsome boy with piercing hazel eyes and what you thought of as wild, black hair. On the back of the picture was scribbled messily, _With love, James._ James? You remember thinking. James Potter? You asked her about her love life a few times after that, slyly adding James’s name in the question. You remember her blushing for the first time, remember her acting all shy. She never did that before.

The beginning of seventh year all you did was worry. You remember running into the house after dropping her off at the platform to see if she left the picture behind. You searched all day for the photo in its beautiful brass frame and cried of frustration when you didn’t find it. When you realized without a doubt that she took the photo back to school with her. James Potter, you thought as you remembered her letters from fifth year. You believed thoughts of him would drive you mad. Curiosity was never a good thing.

You met him during Christmas of her seventh year. You remember the day she asked permission. _Mum,_ she wrote, _I want to bring a friend home for Christmas break. You’ll love him, I promise_. The first time you saw them together you knew they were meant to be. He was handsome and Lily was always the more beautiful daughter, and when you met him you knew he was someone special. She never brought home one of her boyfriends before.

He was nice and charming and, although at the time you hated to admit, he was everything you wanted for your daughter. He was intelligent, athletic, witty, and she loved him. You saw the glow in her face, the beauty that was never quite so defined. You took one look at James, watched him caroling with Lily by the Christmas tree and knew that this one was here to stay. You watched them during those two weeks. Watched them playing in the snow and kissing when they thought no one was around. You watched them stringing popcorn for the tree and dancing under the stars without music. You watched them and knew that she loved him, knew that he loved her, and hated yourself for thinking so little of him in fifth year, hated yourself for thinking he was of no importance. You would never make that mistake again.

After that she wrote home a lot. He was always the topic of discussion and she wrote to you as if he was already part of the family. _James and I are fine, Mum, very happy._ She would write. _Yes mum, we’re still together. Stop Asking!_  You remember your birthday when James and Lily sent you a gift together. _My oh my,_ you remember writing _, you would think you two were already married._ You could imagine the disapproving look on your daughters face as she read that.

They were engaged shortly after graduation. You yelled when you found out. Yelled. Screamed. Threw a tantrum in your husband’s arms as you screamed about your stupid daughter. _She’s too young._ You would say. _They don’t know what they’re doing. What if they’re making a big mistake?_ He calmed you. _They love each other._ He had said. _Anyone with eyes could see that._ It took weeks but in due time you resigned to the fact that you would lose you daughter forever. You resigned to the fact that she was no longer your little girl.

They were married. It was a beautiful wedding, her dream wedding. You remembering crying, remember hugging her so tightly before the ceremony because you were afraid to let her go. _I can’t breathe, Mum._ She had said. _I love you_.

You didn’t see her after that day. She left for her honeymoon, moved into the wizarding world, and with the exception of a single visit, your relationship was solely through mail. You remember living for those letters, staring each day out the window for hours at the time looking for her owl in the sky. Each letter was so emotional. You could pinpoint the exact moment life started deteriorating. The exact moment the letters became frantic as Lily tried to hide the pain her family was going through. The letters were always happy, were always filled with optimism but you knew Lily, knew she was hiding a dire secret from you with every word she wrote. Still, you live off those letters now, live off every letter she ever sent you.

She visited you once. James wasn’t with her, but her son, Harry was. You cry when you think about that visit. You cry as you remember the beautiful child in her arms. Cry as you remember how red her hair was, the fear you know she was trying to hide. It was the last time you saw her, the last time you heard from her. She was murdered a few weeks after that.

You never knew the details about her death. It’s a crime, you think. To not know how your own daughter died, to be kept in the dark about something that ruined your life. You know she was in hiding, that when she visited you her and James’s lives were in danger. You know it was a wizard, an evil one who was terrorizing the world, that killed her. You know that she died quickly, although they wouldn’t tell you if she was tortured, if she was scared. They wouldn’t tell you if she begged for her life or faced death bravely. They wouldn’t tell you if she cried asking for her mother with her dying breath. And, lastly, you know that it was only a miracle that gave you Harry, that he should have died along with his parents.

Life is cruel, you think. It shouldn’t happen. A mother shouldn’t be present at her daughter’s funeral. A mother shouldn’t have to pick out her daughters tombstone, shouldn’t have to write on a piece of paper what it should say: 

**_Lily Evans Potter- darling Daughter, Mother and Wife. Touched every person she ever met._ **

A mother shouldn’t sit there in a church as a priest, a complete stranger, speaks about her daughter’s life, about how wonderful she was, about her contributions to society. And a mother should never have to look on as her daughter is lowered into the ground, shouldn’t have to look at the casket resting for its final time and know that her daughter is lying inside. It’s the hardest thing you have ever done, live as Lily, your baby daughter, lay dead.

Your heart broke that day. Your heart broke as you realized you would never again feel a parent’s anxiety for her. Your heart broke as you heard her giggling in a distance, imagined her with a piece of parchment and a quill writing you letters about her latest conquest. Your heart broke as you realized that James was the last person to see your daughter alive and cried as you were told he was murdered while trying to save her life. You’re heart broke as you remember the first time you met James, the first time you realized that this was the boy she would love forever.

You hate him sometimes. Hate him for taking your daughter away. Hate him because you know she loved him more than humanly possible. You hate him because from the moment she laid eyes on him she stopped being your daughter, stopped being the young fifteen year old girl who would giggle as Petunia whispered nonsense into her ear. Not that you didn’t expect it, though. You knew from the moment you met him that James Potter was someone special.

END

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